


The Mood Ring

by lilfinch



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM themes, F/F, Fingering, Hate Sex, Jazzalil, Oral, Smut, brat zazzalil, raging guilty pleasure, top jemilla, you know how it be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfinch/pseuds/lilfinch
Summary: Prompt Fill / accidental marriageOne Las Vegas hotel, more than a few fruity drinks, and one bad choice that led to another and another and another. What the hell kind of a bachelorette party was this?
Relationships: Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	The Mood Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again Sofia 😭

Hmm.

This was precarious.

Jemilla lay on her side, staring with wide eyes at Zazzalil’s bared back. Her chest rose and fell soundly, and, seeing that it was only 8:30 in the morning, Jemilla guessed that Zazzalil wouldn’t be up for another few hours.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed. The pain hit her like a brick the moment she stood up. Jemilla almost lost her balance and had to hold on to the hotel wall. Fuck, she had never been this hungover before. If there was one thing Jemilla knew how to do it was hold her alcohol. Her eyes squeezed shut and stars danced across her vision.

Jesus Christ, what  _ happened _ last night?

Biting down the nausea that twisted inside of her, Jemilla changed out of the clothes from last night. It was only as she tugged her crop top from last night off that Jemilla noticed the mood ring stuck onto her ring finger. She frowned. The colors swirling on it were a dark blue and green, and Jemilla half-heartedly tried to wrench it off to no avail. She muttered under her breath and pulled on shorts and a sweater, sneaking out of Zazzalil’s hotel room and downstairs.

Emberly and Schwoopsie were already up and eating breakfast. The sight of food made Jemilla recoil, but she sat down anyway.

Emberly whistled lowly, “hey, Jemilla. You look like shit.”

She mumbled something incoherent in reply.

“Where the hell did you and Zazzalil go last night?” Schwoopsie asked, taking a long sip of coffee. Jemilla straightened up, her eyes widening.

“Why? What do you remember?”

Emberly and Schwoopsie exchanged a glance. “Remember?” Emberly asked with a nervous giggle. “God, how drunk did you get last night?”

Jemilla groaned and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. “Really drunk. I don’t remember what happened last night.”

Schwoopsie tilted her head to the side, “You’re usually pretty good about holding your booze.”

“I know, I know.”

Emberly set down her mug of hot chocolate. “Alright, well. Earth to Jemilla, we’re in Las Vegas for my bachelorette party. Last night we went gambling.” 

Jemilla waved her hand, “I know that much,” she hissed. “Oh god. I didn’t gamble, did I?”

Emberly shrugged, “I was with Tiblyn and Chorn at the casinos. You, Schwoops, Zazz, and Keeri went clubbing.”

Clubbing. Jemilla closed her eyes as flashes ran through her brain. An alive club. Fruity drinks. Zazzalil. Dancing.

“Right,” Schwoopsie continued, “you and Zazzalil got into it.”

“A fight?”

“What else? Nothing bigger than usual, I didn’t think. But then you started drinking those bright blue drinks and Keeri and I were on the dance floor…”

“I never drink fruity drinks,” Jemilla groaned, rubbing her eyes with her sleeves.

“I know right,” Schwoopsie said, snickering. “I was dancing with Keeri, we were somewhere towards the back, Zazzalil was making her move on a whole group of girls. You were pouting at the bar. And then next thing I knew I turned around and you were gone.”

Oh.

Zazzalil, dancing in a whole group of girls who all seemed very interested in her. The damn nuisance, too charming for her own good. What had she been wearing? That sexy black number. The button-up shirt that was teasingly half-unbuttoned and the tight black jeans. Jemilla could remember it, watching from the bar as Zazzalil danced with them, feeling the jealousy swelling in her chest, their eyes meeting.

But what after that?

“I think you dragged Zazzalil out to talk or something, and then I didn’t see you guys for the rest of the night.”

“Dragged her out to talk,” Jemilla mused, trying to think. The massive headache that she’d woken with had only gotten worse. Thinking was painful. 

“You need water,” Emberly said, and she stood up to get some.

_ “You need water.” _ Jemilla blinked. She remembered someone saying that at one point. When? On the dance floor? God, when had Jemilla gone to the dance floor…

_ “You need water,” the bartender said, setting down a glass in front of Jemilla. She turned to him and glared. _

_ “I’m fine, thanks.” Jemilla slammed her drink on the counter of the bar and made her way into the throng of people. She made eye contact with Zazzalil, holding it for a moment before jerking her head to the side in a ‘follow me’ movement and disappearing into the crowd. _

_ She heard Zazzalil excuse herself. “Give me a second, ladies.” That asshole. Who the hell did she think she was? _

_ Zazzalil grabbed Jemilla’s wrist. “Hey! Are you ready to apologize to me yet?” _

_ Apologize for what? Jemilla couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about. Her mind was such a blur, but the emotions swirling under her skin were intense, if indistinguishable. _

_ “No.” Jemilla tugged the hand that Zazzalil was holding, pulling her into close. “Dance with me.” _

_ Zazzalil had raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, and they danced. Jemilla’s hands found her hips, and, without question, Zazzalil slung her arms around Jemilla’s neck. The change in demeanor had happened suddenly and without explanation, but the two found themselves swaying to the music as if they were the only ones in the room. _

_ Jemilla had looked up at the end of the song, watching the way the red and blue lights danced across Zazzalil’s face, swirling in her chocolate brown eyes. Her gaze had flicked to her lips, her breath caught in her throat. _

_ Zazzalil had been the one to lean in and, very softly, very cautiously, connected their lips. _

“Oh no.” Jemilla whispered under her breath.

“Are you okay?” Schwoopsie asked, concern written across her face. Jemilla’s chest tightened. Her friends almost never saw her like this.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice strained in her throat. Emberly returned, setting the glass of water on the desk. Quickly, Jemilla took a large gulp. She placed the glass back on the desk with more force than necessary and stuck her hand in her sweater pocket. 

Jemilla froze. She pulled something sharp-cornered and laminated from her pocket as conversation between Schwoopsie and Emberly picked back up. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest.

It was a set of PhotoBooth pictures, four, of Jemilla and Zazzalil. Both of them were very clearly drunk, and laughed uncontrollably in the first. In the second, they made eye contact, and in the third and fourth… Jemilla gulped. This couldn’t be good.

“Good morning,  _ ladies _ !”

Jemilla shoved the laminated strip of photos back into her pocket as Zazzalil joyously made her way to their table. She had changed into sweatpants and a ratty old sweater, and, with the hood flicked up, her tangled hair fell wildly over her shoulders.

Jemilla stood up quickly and grabbed Zazzalil’s wrist. “I need to talk to you.”

Zazzalil raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “Sure, thing, J-Mills.”

Without another word, she was dragged out of the hotel dining room and into the hallway, the confused stares of Emberly and Schwoopsie following them.

Zazzalil chattered loudly as they walked. “I don’t know what has you so worked up but I feel fantastic. Hey, you look like shit. Are you  _ hungover _ ? I thought you didn’t get hungover?”

Jemilla released Zazzalil’s wrist when they were alone and whirled on her. “Yes, I’m hungover. I don’t know what happened last night, but… what do  _ you _ remember? You have to remember  _ something _ … you are way too chipper.”

Zazzalil smiled brightly and leaned against the wall. “Oh, I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Not a single thing. I don’t really get hungover, but I lose my memory to a really alarming degree. It’s a good thing I have complete trust in drunk me’s decisions.” Jemilla stared at her with her mouth gaping open like a fish. Zazzalil snickered and continued. “Whatever happened last night must have been insane though,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “I woke up with  _ three _ hickeys this morning,  _ and _ I was completely naked. Look!”

Zazzalil pulled down her hood to reveal a pair of wicked looking hickeys on the side of her neck.

Jemilla felt heat rise to her face. “That’s… that’s only two.”

Zazzalil’s smile widened mischievously. “The third one is on my  _ inner thigh. _ ”

This was very not good. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

Looking at the ground, Jemilla pulled out the PhotoBooth pictures and handed them to Zazzalil. Her smile dropped, and her eyebrow raised.

“Damn, Jemilla,” she muttered, “you know, I also have fingertip bruises on my wrists, I didn’t know you were a freak.”

Jemilla’s face burned with embarrassment and anger. “This isn’t funny!” she hissed.

Zazzalil cracked a shit-eating grin and shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I think it’s pretty fun-” she froze. There was a rustling sound in her pocket, and both of them stared as Zazzalil produced a few pieces of balled up paper from her sweater pocket. She slowly began to uncrumple them, and the color drained from her face.

“What?” Jemilla asked, panic churning in her stomach. “What is it?”

“It’s… they’re…” Zazzalil gulped, “they’re marriage documents.”

Jemilla’s stomach dropped. It was only then when she noticed a mood ring not unlike her own, secured on Zazzalil’s left ring finger. “No way,” she whispered, and grabbed the papers out of Zazzalil’s hand. Even through the crumpled state of decay, the documents were obviously official and two very sloppy signatures sat at the bottom.

“Oh no,” Jemilla groaned, “no no no. I think I’m going to throw up. We need to go- what the hell?”

Zazzalil was laughing. Not chuckling, but full on, wheezing, running out of breath laughter. She was bent over in the middle of the hall with the sleeve of her sweater stuffed in her mouth to keep from waking up the hotel residents, stifling her howling laughter. Rage bubbled inside of Jemilla.

“ _ This isn’t funny _ !” she hissed.

“Are you kidding me?” Zazzalil asked incredulously through her heaving laughter, “this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to me! Oh god-”

Jemilla grabbed a fistful of Zazzalil’s sweater and yanked her closer to her. “This is not funny, you moron. We need to go get divorce papers signed! I can’t believe this happened, what was  _ in _ that  _ goddamn _ drink?”

Zazzalil smirked coolly, and the rage only flared in Jemilla’s chest. “Calm down, J-Mills. We need to go hang with Emberly, this trip is about her, not us, remember?”

“But-”

Zazzalil’s hands fell Jemilla’s waist and she spun them around, pushing Jemilla up against the wall. Her voice lowered to a whisper and her face was so close that their noses almost touched. “Besides,  _ wifey _ , I think I’m going to enjoy this just a bit longer.”

Zazzalil leaned up and kissed a stunned Jemilla’s cheek before she backed away and left down the hall. Jemilla blinked a few times, her eyes wide and her breath heavy in her chest.

“What the fuck?”

~

The day was a rest day and the group spent it lounging around the hotel pool. Jemilla lay in seething anger, stretched out on a long pool chair. Emberly and Tiblyn were in the chairs next to her, having a conversation about where to get lunch. They’d interrupt Jemilla’s brooding to ask for an opinion, to which she would respond with an unhelpful “I’m game for whatever Emberly wants to do.” Unlike her, so typically opinionated and decisive, but it was seemingly chalked up to a bad hangover.

She was feeling better, for sure, and indistinguishable flashes of memory were beginning to resurface. 

There was a loud splash and Jemilla felt droplets of water spray across her skin. She opened her eyes and sat up, only to see Zazzalil at the edge of the pool, leaning up over the ledge on her elbows, grinning like an idiot. Jemilla frowned.

“What are you looking at?”

Zazzalil’s smile grew and she leaned her cheek into her hand. “Only the most perfect wife in the world.”

Jemilla blanched and looked around wildly, making sure nobody had heard. It didn’t seem like anybody had, and a scowl set over Jemilla’s face. “Shut up, Zazzalil.”

“Why don’t you get in the water and make me?”

“This isn’t a joke, you prick. We need to,” she paused and her voice lowered to a hissing whisper, “we need to get divorce documents instead of lounging around by the pool.”

A hurt look fell over Zazzalil’s face. “A divorce? Oh, babe, I’m sorry. Was it the snoring? It was the snoring, wasn’t it? You could have said something.” 

Jemilla let out a low groan and sank back in her chair, pulling her baseball cap farther over her eyes. 

“What about you, Zazzalil?” Tiblyn called, “What are you thinking for lunch?”

Zazzalil tilted her head, thinking for a moment, then she smirked and nodded her head to Jemilla. “I think I’m good with whatever my sweet wife would like.”

Jemilla’s head snapped up. Emberly laughed awkwardly, the kind of laugh where you think a joke has been made but you didn’t understand it so just to be safe you chuckle. 

“Zazz, come with me to the hotel room I have to grab something,” Jemilla said through gritted teeth.

She pouted, “But I just got in!”

“ _ Now _ .”

Zazzalil groaned as she pushed herself out of the water, climbing over the edge. Jemilla swung her legs over the side of the chair and watched as she climbed out of the pool.

Zazzalil wrung the water out of her hair, drops sliding down her face and off the tip of her nose. Jemilla gulped. Zazzalil was in a black bikini top with men’s swim trunks that depicted a bright orange sunset pattern. They hung low on her hips. Zazzalil looked up and, seeing Jemilla’s narrow-eyed stare, smirked.

Jemilla looked away quickly and stood. Zazzalil dipped her head to signal for her to lead, which Jemilla did wordlessly.

Their walk through the hotel was quiet, but crackling with a frustrating sort of tension that felt like static on Jemilla’s skin. She could feel Zazzalil’s self-satisfied smirk burning into the back of her head, and the more they walked, the more anger Jemilla could feel building in her chest.

It grew and grew until they finally entered her hotel room and Jemilla whirled upon Zazzalil with a snarl on her face.

“You are the most  _ infuriating _ ,  _ annoying _ , and outstandingly  _ stupid  _ person I have ever met! What are you even  _ trying _ to do? Embarrass me in front of everybody?”

Zazzalil smiled testingly. “Do I have to have an ulterior motive geared against you here? Can I not just be having fun and enjoying the moment?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to be ‘having fun’ at my expense.” Jemilla ran a hand through her hair. Zazzalil’s smile only grew.

“Or maybe I do have ulterior motives.” She took a step closer to Jemilla. “Maybe I’m just trying to get you riled up.” Another. “Maybe, I’m just trying to bring back the wild thing that left fingertip bruises on my wrists.”

The decision to lean in and kiss Zazzalil was made with so little thought it was concerning. Jemilla surged forward, her hands raising to Zazzalil’s neck, cupping her jaw. Instead of their lips connecting, however, Jemilla felt hands on her hips spinning her around and then pushing her down.

She landed on the bed with a small  _ oof _ , and then Zazzalil climbed on top of her, straddling her waist.

“Maybe I just wanted to repay you for my apparently fun night last night. Now, turn around, please.”

Jemilla’s head buzzed with lust and rage and  _ want _ . She maybe even  _ needed _ this, for sure, but she couldn’t seem to get a clear thought through her head. Zazzalil stood up, watching with that same stupid smile as Jemilla turned around slowly.

Zazzalil pulled Jemilla up by the waist to situate her on her hands and knees. Her brow furrowed, she looked behind her shoulder. “What are you-” Zazzalil tugged down her bikini bottoms, and without any hesitation, her mouth covered Jemilla.

She gasped quietly, her head facing back forward as Zazzalil’s head pulled back. Her tongue returned, licking broadly across Jemilla and her groaning became loader. She slid down on her hands so that she rested on her forearms and her head dropped down into the mattress.

It wasn’t to say Jemilla had never fucked in this position, but more so that she had never  _ been _ fucked in this position. It felt compromising and  _ oh _ so dirty. Even as Zazzalil’s tongue delved into her and pleasure twanged in Jemilla’s stomach, she could honestly say that she had never expected getting fucked by her own wife to feel so wrong.

And yet, as Jemilla’s back arched and her face pushed into the pillow, she couldn’t help but feel that the truly lewd sounds coming from low in Zazzalil’s throat behind her and the dull pain of her own fingernails digging into her palms through the sheets was so, so unbearably right. 

Her eyes shut tightly as she focused on the pleasure pooled hotly in her stomach. Each quick stroke of Zazzalil’s tongue sent blazing spirals of desire through her body and she guiltily allowed herself to be pushed closer to the edge. Her technique was unrefined and wild, but passionate and more determined than Jemilla had ever known her to be.

The bed creaked under her, and Jemilla could feel Zazzalil suddenly crawl over her with her fingers still circling quickly around her clit, whispering in her ear.

“Turn around.”

Her mind blurred with pleasure, Jemilla numbly turned around, panting heavily. Zazzalil’s hand pushed her waist down, and Jemilla’s back hit the bed. They kissed, roughly and passionately, Zazzalil’s weight pressing Jemilla into the mattress.

A low moan escaped Jemilla’s lips as Zazzalil’s fingers moved faster and harder, and her body shivered in delight.

“You’re more… obedient than I thought you’d be,” Zazzalil murmured into her neck. Too blinded with pleasure to form a coherent response, a whimper escaped Jemilla’s lips. Zazzalil chuckled. “Being your wife is  _ so _ much fun. And I thought having you  _ over _ me was thrilling.”

Jemilla’s mouth opened, but, before she could respond, Zazzalil’s teeth closed around her bottom lip and dragged slowly back. Jemilla gasped a short, stuttered gasp, the pleasure still building and building. Her body tensed slightly, and Zazzalil smirked and nipped at Jemilla’s earlobe.

“I can feel you getting close,” she murmured. Jemilla bit her lip and nodded. Zazzalil smiled and dragged her lips down the side of Jemilla’s neck. Her touch sped up, and stars danced in her eyes. The bubbling pleasure was so intense that it almost rang in her ears, and she was almost to the point of having to hold it back.

That was, until Zazzalil’s lips found her ear, and in an excruciatingly velvety voice she whispered, “ _ Come now _ .”

White hotness exploded inside of Jemilla and she inhaled sharply. Zazzalil’s lips met her own, her fingers still working on and inside her as the orgasm rippled powerfully through her body. 

“Jesus,” Jemilla groaned when the feeling finally started to fade, and Zazzalil crashed onto the bed beside her with a huff.

“God, how do you do that all the time? It’s  _ exhausting _ . Fun, though.” Zazzalil mused, her wet hair dampening the sheets under her.

Jemilla closed her eyes as she caught her breath. “I can’t believe we did that,” she whispered breathlessly. Zazzalil smirked.

“Why? Can a woman not make love to her beautiful wife?”

Jemilla’s eyes snapped open, and in a moment, she was hovering over a grinning Zazzalil, her fists balling into the sheets beside her head.

“Take it back, Zazzalil. That wasn’t ‘making love’.” There was what could only be described as an enraged snarl across Jemilla’s face as she leaned closer down to Zazzalil. “That was barely even having sex. We  _ fucked _ . And that’s all.”

A mocking frown tugged at Zazzalil’s lips and she slung her arms around Jemilla’s neck, rolling her hips up into hers and delighting in Jemilla’s fluttering eyelids. “That’s no way to talk to your poor wife. Especially considering it’s not even true.” A questioning scowl crossed Jemilla’s face and a large smile lit Zazzalil’s. “You  _ got _ fucked. By me. And you enjoyed every second of it.”

She leaned up quickly. Their lips grazed only briefly before a hand at her throat roughly pushed Zazzalil down. Jemilla’s jaw was clenched, but her gaze kept falling up and down Zazzalil’s lips.

“You really are letting this power high get to your head, aren’t you?” The hand around her throat lifted Zazzalil’s head up, closer to Jemilla’s face. “You’ve ridden this thing out long enough. I’ll teach you a  _ lesson _ , and then you’ll sign the papers.” Very briefly, Zazzalil’s Cheshire-like demeanor broke, and she blinked in surprise. Then the smile returned, and she tilted her head.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Anger lit Jemilla’s features, and she began to lean down to kiss Zazzalil’s neck. There was a knock at the door.

“Zazz? Jemilla? Did you guys find what you needed?” Schwoopsie called from in the hall. Jemilla looked down at Zazzalil, a tense beat pulsing between them before she pushed up off her palms. She picked her bikini bottoms up off the floor, pulling them on.

“Yeah, we’ll be right down.” Jemilla turned to Zazzalil, her tongue running slowly over her teeth. “Later.” She said simply before opening the door and leaving.

~

Jemilla’s shadows stretched across her room as she changed by the dim lamplight. Her fingers quickly buttoned her shirt, and Jemilla turned to look in the mirror.

Her silky maroon shirt glinted in the candlelight, and her curls bounced against her shoulders. Not that she really knew what it meant, but her mood ring swirled with dark blue. Jemilla let out a shaky sigh, her gaze running slowly up and down herself. Her mind buzzed, lightheaded with the memory of Zazzalil’s lips against her skin and those surprisingly diligent fingers. Jemilla’s eyes narrowed. She needed a belt.

“Hey,” Schwoopsie said, opening her hotel door to Jemilla.

“Do you have a belt I can borrow? I left mine at home.” Schwoopsie nodded and stepped back. 

“It’s in the bathroom,” Schwoops called after Jemilla as she walked through the hotel room. She looked back, giving her friend a grinning nod. Her hand curled around the doorknob, and, just as Jemilla opened the door, Schwoopsie’s voice called behind her. “Oh shit, Zazzalil is changing in there.”

Jemilla froze, staring, gaping, in the opened bathroom as Zazzalil watched herself in the mirror, slowly pulling the strap of her black cocktail dress over her shoulder. Zazzalil blinked in surprise, her face growing hot as she spun around to face Jemilla.

Her hands gripped the sink counter that she leaned upon, and Zazzalil cleared her throat and forced a teasing grin onto her face. “Walking in on a girl while she’s changing, Jemilla? Classy.”

Jemilla’s mouth went dry and, ignoring the slight shakiness in Zazzalil’s words, slammed the door shut behind her and closed the space between them in a few long strides. Zazzalil was wordless and watching. Jemilla gripped the counter, leaning on her arms and trapping Zazzalil in between them. Their faces were dangerously close, and Jemilla revelled at the sound of Zazzalil’s breath catching in her throat.

Their eyes flicked rapidly around each other’s face, and, with a sharp inhale, Jemilla’s chin twitched forward. Then her hand wrapped around the belt in a curled circle on the countertop behind Zazzalil, and she pushed backwards.

Jemilla left, belt in hand, and slammed the door shut behind her without a single word.

The restaurant was offensively lascivious. A few large, connected rooms, lit by dim, wall-mounted candles, dark walls holding huge bay windows through which the moonlight danced against the white cloth table sheets and surrounded the mauve carnation centerpieces with a white, otherworldly aura.

Schwoopsie whistled lowly as the group was led through the restaurant. “Damn,” she muttered.

“Damn” would indeed be the correct word to describe the restaurant, but Jemilla hardly noticed. Her heart beating was uncomfortably loud in her chest, her blood rushing in her ears and making her almost lightheaded. She had hardly interacted with Zazzalil after the incident in the bathroom besides opening the car door for her on their way to the restaurant, but her thoughts had been salaciously plagued with every glance Zazzalil’s way.

Whether she noticed or not, Jemilla was enamored. Infatuated, even. Her gaze seemed to work its way back to that tight black cocktail dress and the frizzy brown curls pulled into a high ponytail without fail. Her blood boiled with anger and her skin grew red from the collarbones up with lust. Her mind ran with scenario after scenario, and Jemilla zoned out further with every fantasy, every dream, nearing on delusion, and-

“Here is your table. Someone will arrive soon to wait on you.”

Hushed conversation broke out around the group as everyone began to sit. Nebulously, Jemilla sat without paying attention to where she situated herself.

“Bold,” came a smug whisper from next to her. Jolting to attention, Jemilla’s head snapped to her side. Zazzalil sat next to her, a smirk across her lips.

Jemilla jerked up. She looked around frantically, only to find that the rest of the party was already seated. She let out a groan under her breath, rubbing her temples.

“I didn’t-” she cut herself off. An explanation would be useless.

“It’s alright, J-Mills,” Zazzalil muttered back, unfolding her napkin to smooth it onto her lap. Her heel-clad foot ran a light path up Jemilla’s leg, causing her to jerk her knee up so that it slammed into the table. All eyes turned to her and Schwoopsie laughed. Zazzalil tucked her chin downwards to hide her smile. “I understand,” she whispered when conversation struck back up, “high-energy. Nervous. I’m flattered, really.” Zazzalil ended the statement with a wink.

Jemilla opened her mouth to respond, but the waitress arrived.

“Can I get you all something to drink?”

They’d been there for an agonizing hour and twenty-six minutes when Jemilla excused herself to the bathroom. Sly touches of the hand, fleeting eye contact, nudging feet. Jemilla’s head buzzed. Her hands shook. This was brutal and unimaginably unwarranted. Such an effect, from so little an event. From so insignificant a person.

Jemilla ran her hands under freezing water, trying to calm her heavy breathing.  _ Insignificant people don’t tend to have this effect on you _ , the voice in Jemilla’s head taunted her. She let out a stubborn huff and shook the water from her hands.

The bathroom door opened.

“You think for someone so on top of her game you wouldn’t be so spacey,” Zazzalil crowed joyfully as she burst into the otherwise empty bathroom. Jemilla stiffened and turned back to the sink, gripping the countertop as Zazzalil wandered closer. Her mood ring clicked against the hard surface. “Honestly, your head is so in the clouds it’s like you’re not even there. It’s funny, because I can’t imagine why.”

Jemilla’s sharp glare cut towards Zazzalil, and a hard frown set over her face. “What do you mean?”

Zazzalil’s shit-eating grin grew. “Are you actually expecting something out of tonight?”

“I made you a promise.”

“I would call that a threat, but either way who’s to say I’m gonna let you? Seeing you so obviously frustrated is really amusing.”

Something snapped in Jemilla. She swung around, her hand closing around Zazzalil’s throat and slamming her against the bathroom stall. A gasp left Zazzalil’s lips, and her eyes widened considerably. Jemilla took no notice. She planted a rough, almost bruising kiss to Zazzalil’s mouth before trailing down to her neck and nipping at the so graciously exposed skin. Her hands were everywhere, and her knee shoved in between Zazzalil’s legs.

“ _ Jemilla _ ,” Zazzalil groaned, her head tilting back and eyes falling shut. Her hands gripped Jemilla’s shoulders, but Jemilla reacted quickly. Her hands closed around Zazzalil’s wrists and forced her flush against the stall door, leaving Zazz wide-eyed and panting.

Slower now, Jemilla leaned forward and traced the top of her tongue along a trembling Zazzalil’s jaw, grinning lightly at her sharp inhale.

“You can see yourself in the mirror, can’t you?” Jemilla whispered into her neck, “Do you understand, Zazzalil? Understand just who you belong to as of tonight?” There was no response save for one pathetic whimper. Jemilla’s teeth closed around Zazzalil’s earlobe. “ _ Do you? _ ”

She nodded quickly and, satisfied, Jemilla groped her through her dress and nipped at Zazzalil’s bottom lip, pulling back slowly.

“I’ll see you later,” she whispered before turning around and letting the door fall shut loudly behind her.

That display seemed to sooth Jemilla’s rattled nerves for the rest of the dinner. She joined in conversation and managed to focus on anything but the now oddly quiet girl beside her for the rest of the night.

Later, sitting in her hotel room staring out the window, Jemilla let her mind wander. The city was a blur of neon lights below her. She could faintly hear the honking cars and soft music radiating from the basement casino and the various clubs lining the streets below her, and there was something strangely comforting about it.

Her lamp was off, as with the light from the plump moon and from those splashed across the city scene below her, it was largely unneeded.

There was a knock at Jemilla’s door.

Pausing for a moment, she crossed her room to open it. Zazzalil walked in without needing to be welcomed, talking loudly as she made her way across the room and to the bay window.

“I would say sorry I took so long, but I’m not. You’d better make this fast, I told Keeri I would be back soon. Besides-”

Zazzalil turned around and cut off upon gazing at the look upon Jemilla’s face. Upon the look in her eyes.

“You know,” Jemilla began slowly, “you talk big talk for someone like yourself.”

Zazzalil raised an eyebrow, watching as Jemilla grew near and placed her hands on Zazz’s hips from behind. She dipped down and pressed a soft kiss to the spot between her shoulder and neck as she walked them forward, to the window.

“‘Someone like myself?’” Zazzalil echoed. Immediately, Jemilla shoved her forward into the window. Zazzalil’s hands raised instinctively to brace herself as Jemilla drew upon her with almost impossible speed. Her hands worked on the zipper of the cocktail dress, and Zazzalil inhaled sharply as she arched forward into the cold windowpane.

Jemilla’s mouth leaned close to Zazzalil’s ear while her hands worked the zipper down. “An annoying little  _ brat _ .” At the last word, Jemilla tugged the entire dress down, her hands finding Zazzalil’s skin and running wildly up and down her body. Zazzalil had apparently chosen to face the night in nothing but the dress and a purple thong, and Jemilla’s hands almost trembled with excitement as she sharply tugged Zazzalil’s hair tie out of her hair, letting it spill wildly around her shoulders.

There was a certain roughness in the way Jemilla shoved Zazzalil down onto the bed that both of them should have been expecting, but still, Zazzalil gasped as she fell and scrambled to her elbows.

“ _ Stay _ ,” Jemilla growled. And, to her satisfaction, she did.

As she unbuttoned her silky maroon shirt, Jemilla let her gaze wander unabashedly up and down Zazzalil. Her lips were parted and her breath was heavy in her chest. Her hair was wild and frizzy, falling in front of her shoulders and a few strands in front of her face, and her shaky hands balled the sheets of the bed into her fists. It was a glorious sight that made Jemilla feel like she was on fire.

She pulled the shirt off and dropped it haphazardly on the ground, leaving her in a lacy black bra and her tight black pants.

“You know,” Jemilla said slowly, unable to force down the small smile that quirked at the side of her lip as her hands worked off the belt around her waist, “I don’t really need a belt for this outfit. I just thought it might make this night so much more interesting.”

Zazzalil’s gaze flicked wildly up and down Jemilla and confusion tugged at her features. “What does  _ that _ mean?”

Jemilla climbed atop Zazzalil’s lap, straddling her. The hand not holding the belt ran up and down her biceps, then slowly wrapped around her wrists. Zazzalil’s eyebrows furrowed, then realization widened her eyes. “ _ Oh _ .”

Jemilla’s face hardened. “Move back,” she ordered.

Zazzalil’s breathing was now deliciously shallow and, wordlessly, she crawled backwards on the bed. A cold smile crossed Jemilla’s lips as she followed, hovering over Zazzalil and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Good girl.”

In an instant, her wrists were pinned and being pushed into the mattress. Jemilla sat up on top of Zazzalil, bringing her hands with her, and began to wrap them together with the belt. Her thumb brushed fleetingly over the mood ring, not dark pink. Zazzalil watched, her breathing only growing heavier and her pupils dilating considerably. Her hands were pushed down into the bed when Jemilla was satisfied and she then began to tie the other end to the headboard.

She tugged on the belt, making sure it would stay, and then turned her narrowed gaze to Zazzalil. “Are you okay?”

“More than.”

“Pull down.”

Zazzalil’s face screwed. “You already tested it.”

A stony glare crossed Jemilla’s features. “I said  _ pull down _ .”

With a small huff, Zazzalil did as she was told and tugged her hands down, testing the strength of Jemilla’s obscene craftsmanship. It stayed. A lust-clouded, self-satisfied smirk turned the corners of Jemilla’s lips and Zazzalil let out an offended gasp.

“And I thought your fingertip bruises and throat-grabbing were kinky, J-Mills.” She jerked her shoulders upward, only to be caught by the belt and snapped back down into the mattress. With a huff, Zazzalil muttered, “Is that what gets you off, you sick bastard?”

Jemilla slammed her palm into the mattress beside her head, a wild smile upon her face. “What, seeing you helpless? Restrained? Mine?”

Zazzalil swallowed. “I wouldn’t say  _ yours _ ,” she mumbled.

Jemilla’s smile only grew. “I would beg to disagree, but I’m afraid you’ll be doing the begging tonight.”

Blinking in surprise, Zazzalil made to retort, but was quickly cut off when Jemilla began to leave open-mouthed kisses down her neck, then her collarbones, sucking and biting, doubtlessly marking.

Her fingers wasted no time in dipping under Zazzalil’s thong and pressing slow, hard circles into her clit. She was wet, almost impossibly so, and Jemilla couldn’t help the truly sinful groan that left her throat.

Zazzalil let out a frustrated whimper and pushed her hips up, bucking greedily into Jemilla’s touch only to have her press one palm into Zazzalil’s waist and push her down. She was willing to forgive the needy move until it was quickly repeated again.

Jemilla scowled, glancing up.

“Stay still.”

Zazzalil threw her a forced smile through her pleasure-contorted face. “Yeah, right,” she panted.

Jemilla’s gaze narrowed. “Do you want to come tonight, Zazzalil? You forget that you’re quite literally tied up under me. If I were you, I would shut the  _ fuck _ up and don’t come until I say so.”

Shock raised Zazzalil’s features and for a few, blissful, rare moments, she was speechless. Only for a few moments. “But-”

Jemilla sighed and sat up, licking her fingers before reaching over to the side of the bed and snatching the t-shirt she’d folded neatly to wear as pajamas for later. It could serve a more useful purpose now, Jemilla decided as she wrapped the ends of the shirt around her knuckles and pulled it taut.

“You know, I  _ would _ say that I’d hate to have to silence your needy self like this, and though I love the pretty sounds you make, I wouldn’t really hate that. So, for your sake, I’ll only do it if it’s necessary.” She tilted her head. “Will it be necessary?”

Zazzalil stared at the shirt for a moment, considering this. Then, she swallowed and inhaled slowly, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. Pleased, Jemilla unwrapped the shirt from her hands and placed it to the side, still within reach.

“Right,” she murmured, leaning back down and kissing Zazzalil’s hipbone, then her other, her fingers ghosting around the insides of Zazzalil’s thighs.

Jemilla could hear her inhale a delightfully stuttered inhale, but she managed to keep down any potential pleads. As a reward, Jemilla drew her tongue slowly from the bottom of Zazzalil’s sex to the top, her strong fingers inching slowly inside of her.

Zazzalil’s chest rose dramatically, her back almost arching and shoulder blades shifting into the bed as Jemilla mouth moved against her, expert in analyzing Zazzalil’s every twitchy jerk to know exactly what she liked and what to repeat.

Her fingers twisted and pressed and her mouth sucked and kissed, intimately, scandalously. Zazzalil was like nothing Jemilla had ever experienced, so fiery and strong-willed yet still blissfully submissive when she wanted to be. It sent Jemilla insane with blazing, inexplicable want, a  _ need _ , to pleasure and to dominate.

And, surely, she could feel Zazzalil’s orgasm rising within her with every strong jerk of her body and with every pitiful whimper that served as a substitute to the long moans that she held back. It was fantastic. Jemilla’s pace increased, becoming faster but still expertly collected and controlled. She knew what she was doing, that much was obvious, and Zazzalil enjoyed every second of it.

Zazzalil inhaled a high-pitch gasp, and, sensing that the time was near, Jemilla stopped suddenly. Zazzalil released a deliriously distraught groan, looking down quickly to see what the problem was, only to find Jemilla staring at her, her mouth and chin dripping, with a chillingly mischievous grin playing at her lips.

“I know it’s coming. Beg for it.”

“ _ What? _ ” Zazzalil panted with disbelief. Her hips rolled pleadingly up into Jemilla’s face but it was ignored.

“ _ Beg  _ for it.”

“Jemilla, why-”

“ _ Now _ .”

With a frustrated, exasperate cry, Zazzalil writhed on the bed. She made to tug her hands down but the leather squeaked deliciously and Zazzalil was left a jerky, writhing, and tantalizing mess struggling furiously against the bonds and her own dignity.

Finally, with an exhausted groan, she fell back into the mattress, her chest rising and falling heavily. She panted for a moment before uttering one hushed word.

“Please?”

Deciding that this was perfectly unacceptable, Jemilla tilted her head and raised an eyebrow innocently, despite the sinfully lewd position she was in. “Hm?”

Zazzalil pulled on the leather binds once more, then moaned. “ _ Please _ , Jemilla. Please, please, just do it, fucking  _ ple _ -”

Jemilla’s mouth and fingers returned on and inside Zazzalil suddenly, working faster than before. Now, Zazzalil didn’t even try to hold back her moans. They spilled from her mouth without restraint as she quickly neared the orgasm that was just within reach.

Jemilla’s fingers curled into just the right spot, the tips of them flitting, and Zazzalil was pushed over the edge. With a halted, stuttered gasp, her back arched sinfully and she threw her head back into the pillows as Jemilla’s mouth and fingers worked through her orgasm as it coursed like golden waves through her body.

Eventually, Zazzalil untensed and fell carelessly back into the mattress, stilling in order to catch her breath. Jemilla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning victoriously as she took in the lewd display before her, staring without shame. It really was a beautiful sight. Her hair was a fuzzy halo framing her head, her eyes half open and lips swollen from Zazzalil having bitten them too hard stifling her own moans. 

Swallowing, Jemilla began to undo the belt around Zazzalil’s hands. She was limp, her eyes still closed, focusing on her breath and seemingly uncaring of what Jemilla did. She tsk’d softly, rubbing her thumbs across the red indents in Zazzalil’s skin and kissing them. Her bright red mood ring glinted in the moonlight.

The silence was persistent, but not awkward. It was more numbing, natural, the sounds of Zazzalil’s steadying breath like white noise in the moonlit hotel room.

Jemilla sat back and pulled Zazz to a sitting position, catching her jaw in her palm and kissing her softly. It felt like the end. Like they’d been playing a game that Jemilla had just won. What a strangely unsatisfying victory. Not unsatisfying in the sense that Jemilla wished things had gone different, because she didn’t, but more so in the way that she was saddened by its inevitable ending. Did she really want more? A hot shiver ran up her spine and Jemilla gulped, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Zazzalil’s mouth and then letting her arms go. She fell back into the bed with a satiated sigh.

Jemilla stood, grabbing the large t-shirt and beginning to change as she waited for Zazzalil to regain her composure and leave. She turned to the window, watching the quietly busy street life scene below as she unclipped her bra and tugged the huge college tee on, stripping herself of the pants next.

“Hey.”

Zazzalil’s soft voice melted through the room, sighing and small. Jemilla turned. The anger had dissipated from her body, and she smiled softly. Zazzalil was sitting cross-legged, her elbows resting on her knees as she twisted her ring slowly around her finger.

“Hi,” Jemilla replied, her voice hushed.

Zazzalil blinked and looked down, then out the window, then back at Jemilla. She gulped slowly. “I’ll sign your papers, but, uh. We should get coffee sometime.”

Jemilla paused. She turned to fully face Zazzalil and was silent for a few moments, thinking. It felt like a good idea. Maybe it wasn’t one, maybe it would rip at the seams within a week, but here, as Jemilla sifted through her inexplicably softened emotions, she felt giddy upon hearing the words. 

“Yeah,” Jemilla replied, her smile widening, “Yeah. We should.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guilty pleasure vibes so strong


End file.
